


there seems to have been some disturbance here

by cardinalgirl75



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I blame twitter for this, Nothing but crack here, The Author Regrets Nothing, and wildly OOC characters, streaker!Jaime, which pretty much tells you everything you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalgirl75/pseuds/cardinalgirl75
Summary: "Listen to this: ‘My sister is having an outdoor wedding in Torrhen Square Park in two months.  I want someone to run naked through her wedding in order to ruin it.  I will protect you from my family.’”  Tyrion laughs again.“That’s terrible,” Jaime says.  “Why would anyone do that to a family member?”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 79
Kudos: 227





	there seems to have been some disturbance here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthwindandfiber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthwindandfiber/gifts), [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/gifts).



> So earthwindandfiber found this on Twitter: https://twitter.com/annamerlan/status/1327819823707992064?s=20
> 
> This brought about a discussion about who would do the hiring and why. Roccolinde added in a few other details, and the next thing I knew, there was a 50-pound plot bunny that climbed onto my back and wouldn't let me go until I wrote it!! So here it is--unbowed, unapologetic, unbeta'd.

Jaime is halfway through his breakfast when his brother, hidden behind his newspaper, lets out a loud cackle, which means he’s made his way to the personal ads. Jaime didn’t know such things still existed in this Internet-driven world, but apparently they do and reading them is Tyrion’s one indulgence in the mornings. Jaime much prefers it to Tyrion’s multitude of indulgences in the afternoons and evenings, which usually include too much alcohol, too many women, and the occasional police citation.

When Tyrion doesn’t stop laughing, however, Jaime looks up from his bagel with its liberal application of cream cheese. “What’d you find?” he asks.

“A person after my own heart. Listen to this: ‘My sister is having an outdoor wedding in Torrhen Square Park in two months. I want someone to run naked through her wedding in order to ruin it. I will protect you from my family.’” Tyrion laughs again.

“That’s terrible,” Jaime says. “Why would anyone do that to a family member?”

Tyrion lowers his newspaper enough so that Jaime sees the skeptical look in his eyes. “I’d do it to Cersei in a heartbeat.”

“According to Cersei, you _did_ ,” Jaime retorts.

The newspaper lowers further and Tyrion smiles in memory. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it? Completely by accident, but the memories last a lifetime.”

“As does the ban the Lannisters received from ever holding another event at the Red Keep.” Jaime takes a drink of coffee. “Dad tried to book it last month for next year’s Lannister Corporation stockholders’ meeting and was told that it wasn’t available.”

“Shame.” Tyrion folds the paper in half, then in half again. He reaches for his phone and taps several times at the screen.

Jaime pauses with his bagel halfway to his mouth. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling this person. No name attached, but there’s a number.”

“Tyrion!” Jaime should disapprove, he knows he should, but he laughs. Cersei always accuses him of excusing Tyrion’s behaviors regardless of how badly they reflect on the rest of the family. Maybe she’s right, but hells, Tyrion hasn’t had the easiest life. It would be great if he would stay off the police radar, but otherwise, what’s the harm? 

“I want to know why they—damn, voicemail.” Tyrion waits a minute for the message to end, then speaks. “Hello, I’m calling about your ad in the paper this morning? I happen to be an expert in wedding sabotage, and I’m always willing to get naked for a good cause. If this isn’t a joke, give me a call at 555-040-1202 and we’ll talk. Hope to hear from you soon.” Tyrion ends the call and sets the phone beside his plate. He looks at Jaime and rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. At the very least, I get to hear about someone else’s family dysfunction rather than have to sit through ongoing discussions of ours. If that’s not worth the time, nothing is.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaime grumbles, a teasing note in his voice as he pops the last bite of his bagel into his mouth.

“It’s one of my more endearing traits,” Tyrion replies, raising his coffee mug in Jaime’s direction. “And I learned from the best, so…”

Jaime chuckles as he gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen to put his dishes in the dishwasher. “Do me a favor? Satisfy your curiosity about why this person wants to ruin their sister’s wedding and leave it at that, okay?”

“Spoilsport,” Tyrion calls out. “Who are you, and what have you done with my _real_ brother?”

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime forgets the conversation for two weeks, until the night he comes home and finds Tyrion on the phone. He wouldn’t think anything of this because Tyrion’s always on the phone with someone or other when he’s not up to mischief, but the minute Tyrion spots him, he waves him into the living room.

“What?” Jaime asks.

“I’m on the phone with the person who placed the ad in the paper.” When Jaime stands there in confusion, Tyrion says, “You know. The one about his sister’s wedding.”

“For the seven’s sake—you didn’t seriously follow up with that one!” Jaime shrugs out of his light jacket which he slings over the back of the chair he subsequently occupies. “Why would you do that?”

“Shh, shh.” Tyrion puts up a hand for silence. “Okay, Galladon, so I want to make sure I’ve got the details. Saturday, June 4 at 11 am? And it’s actually Targaryen Memorial Park? Smart move on your part to make sure someone didn’t figure it out…Got it…no, that’s not a problem. I understand completely…yeah, I know what it’s like to want to do anything to keep a sibling from making a huge mistake.” Jaime rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but Tyrion moves the phone away from his head long enough to hiss, “Taena Merryweather.” 

Jaime groans. Honestly, get caught in the clutches of _one_ gold digger, never be allowed to live it down.

“Yeah, that would be great. Just let me know if something changes and you won’t need me after all. Oh, me? Uh…I’m about six-foot-three, curly blond hair, in great physical shape so managing to get away won’t be a problem. I’ll be masked so no one will recognize me.”

“What?” Jaime yelps, because Tyrion has just described _him,_ not himself.

“Uh-oh. My brother’s home, so I gotta go. Talk with you later, Galladon. Bye!” Tyrion hangs up quickly. Before Jaime can shout, he says, “Well, if I’d described myself, he might’ve thought I was fucking with him! It’s not going to matter how I described myself—hells, I figure when I make an actual appearance, he’ll find it even more perfect than if it had been you.”

“I cannot believe you’re doing this,” Jaime says. “I thought you were joking when you called him—him? It’s a guy?”

“Yeah. Galladon Tarth. And before you ask, while I was on the phone with him, I was looking up details and he’s on the up-and-up. His sister’s name is Brienne and she’s marrying one Hyle Hunt, a name that simply cries out for mockery, on June 4 at Targaryen Memorial Park.”

Jaime pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to forestall the headache starting to develop. “Tyrion, if this guy is trying to disrupt his sister’s wedding, he’s an asshole. I know you’re always up for a prank, but pranking someone you don’t even know?”

“You don’t know the whole story,” Tyrion says. He gets up from the couch and walks away, returning a minute later with two bottles of beer. He hands one to Jaime and resumes his seat. “According to Galladon, and confirmed by my research, Ms. Brienne Tarth is what you would call…unique-looking.”

“In other words, she’s ugly.”

“I was trying to be politically correct.”

Jaime snorts. “When have you ever been politically correct?”

“There’s always a first time. Anyway, Galladon’s sister is a sweet, wonderful girl who never believed she’d find someone to marry, and suddenly here comes this guy who seems like the perfect guy on paper. Nice looks, good manners, steady job. His friends are a bit obnoxious, but he always apologizes for them whenever they get out of hand. Sends her flowers, is never late for engagements…”

“So far, I’m not seeing why this jerk would object to him.” Jaime opens his beer and takes a long drink. When he finishes, he says, “All I’m hearing right now is a guy who is maybe too protective of his sister because we all would’ve been thrilled if Cersei had brought home a guy like this instead of Robert.”

“I’m getting to that.” Tyrion sets his beer down. “Galladon says that he always got a vibe from this guy but couldn’t put his finger on why he didn’t like him. Kind of like the feeling we all got when we first met Taena.”

“Does the family have money?”

Tyrion presses a hand to his heart. “Asking logical questions! I’m so proud of you! No, they don’t—oh, they aren’t dirt poor or anything, but there isn’t some pot of gold at the end of the wedding rainbow.”

“Then I ask again, what’s this guy’s deal?”

“Galladon says he noticed something about three months ago, right after Brienne and Hyle got engaged. Hyle was spending more time with the family as he insisted on being involved in the wedding plans.”

“Clutch the pearls, a man who might care about his wedding.” Jaime takes another long drink.

“It’s one thing to care about the wedding, and another to take over control altogether. According to Galladon, Brienne’s always wanted to get married on the beach back at their family home on Tarth. Hyle hates the beach but wanted an outdoor setting, so they’re getting married at the park. Brienne always wanted to get married in a simple dress, but Hyle believes all brides should wear poufy ballgown-style dresses with yards of taffeta and lace. Guess what she’s wearing?”

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding day?” Jaime ponders, remembering suddenly that he’d seen Taena in her wedding dress two weeks before the wedding so there might be something to that.

Granted, it didn’t help that he had seen Taena fucking another man while wearing her wedding dress, but still.

“Brienne hates roses of any kind, but Hyle insists they’re what every bride should carry in her bouquet. Brienne hates roast boar, but that’s what the main course is at their wedding. Brienne hates vanilla cake, but that’s what Hyle likes. Starting to get the picture?”

“What does Brienne say about all this?” Jaime asks, although he’s getting a better idea of what Galladon’s objecting to.

“Galladon thinks she’s so desperate to hang on to Hyle that she’s going along with everything he wants to keep him. I asked him if he was mistaking happiness for desperation, but Galladon honestly doesn’t think that’s the case. He says that with everything Hyle’s insisted on, Brienne seems less and less happy.”

Jaime starts feeling sorry for this woman, because this Hyle asshole reminds him of his father.

“More than Hyle’s insistence on managing all the details of the wedding are the comments he makes.” Tyrion picks up his beer bottle but doesn’t drink. “Small comments. Not snide or pointed, like Cersei, but no less damaging for all their subtlety. Comments about her looks, about how she could stand to lose a few pounds—which Galladon emphatically insists she doesn’t need to do. I guess she’s a schoolteacher for one of the schools in the Flea Bottom district and he’s made suggestions about finding something that will pay her more money even though she loves her kids. The last straw for Galladon was when overheard a conversation where Hyle was chastising her about ordering the wrong necklaces for her bridesmaids’ gifts. He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t mock, but he subtly makes her seem like a fool for not realizing that his decisions are better.”

“Sounds like you guys had quite a long talk,” Jaime notes.

“He had a lot he needed to get off his chest, and I think he wanted to make sure I understood that he’s not an asshole who hates his sister or doesn’t think any guy would be good enough for her. If what he says is true, and I don’t think he’s lying, then Brienne is setting herself up to be miserable if she marries this guy.”

“So why doesn’t he have this long talk with _her?_ Why go to this extreme to ruin her wedding?”

“Because alas, Brienne Tarth is sweet, wonderful, caring and giving, but she’s also stubborn as all hells. Direct quote from Galladon. He says if he tries to point out Hyle’s faults, Brienne will dig in her heels and marry Hyle to prove him wrong.”

“So add ‘not wanting to be embarrassed if the family is proved right’ to the desperation,” Jaime muses. “All right, so how does he think something like this is going to ruin the wedding? I could see everyone laughing this off and going on with the ceremony.”

“Not this guy,” Tyrion replies. “At least, Galladon doesn’t think so. He thinks that if something like this disrupts the ceremony, Hyle will go off and Brienne will see him for who he really is. Only it has to be something that Brienne has no control over, because then Hyle can’t blame her for it. Enter ‘random stranger streaking through the wedding’ as the craziest thing he could come up with.”

“I still don’t see how this will work, but it’s his funeral if his sister ever finds out he was behind it.” Jaime finishes off his beer. “So how do you expect to get away with this and not wind up getting arrested for public indecency? Not to point out the obvious, but you are not the average guy on the street.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Jaime. I’ll have it all figured out by the big day.”

Jaime groans. “I’ll make sure to have the bail money ready, then.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Jaime is sound asleep on a morning in early June when his phone goes off with a loud ring on the nightstand next to his bed. He groans, trying to figure out why the hells someone would call him at…he looks at the clock beside the phone…just after nine in the morning.

Jaime lets the call go to voicemail, but almost as if the person calling knows he’s trying to ignore them, the phone rings again immediately. Jaime curses and grabs the phone off the wireless charger, seeing that his caller is Tyrion.

“I need your help,” Tyrion says before Jaime can shout at him.

“What now?” Jaime groans. He’d gotten to sleep very late last night and the last thing he needs is Tyrion calling this early, because that’s never a good sign. “What jail did you end up in?”

“I’m not in jail!” Tyrion sounds offended but Jaime refuses to apologize. Gods know Tyrion’s had enough scuffles with the law that King’s Landing PD practically has a cell reserved in his name for his overnight visits. “But I am nowhere near King’s Landing right now, and I was supposed to be.”

“So why are you calling me? Do you need a ride?”

“No. I’m in Rosby. No way I get back in time for what I need to do, so that’s where you come in.”

“Huh?”

“It’s June fourth.” Tyrion says this like Jaime’s supposed to know the significance.

“Uh-huh.”

“June fourth, Jaime. Brienne’s wedding?” When Jaime still doesn’t get it, Tyrion shouts, “The woman whose brother doesn’t want her marrying the asshole! Remember?”

“Oh, that.” Jaime remembers now—Tyrion agreed to streak through the…. “Oh no. No, no, _no!”_

“C’mon, Jaime! The guy is counting on me, which means now he’s counting on you. It should be fine since he’s expecting someone who looks like you, anyway.”

“Forget it, Tyrion. You’re the one who agreed to do this, so you find someone else to do it since you’re—why the hells are you in Rosby, anyway?”

“Bronn knows a guy who was having a party. It got a little wild.” There’s a long pause. “So, are you gonna help me out here? Actually, it’s not me you’re helping—it’s Brienne.”

“I don’t know Brienne. I know _of_ Brienne, and what I know of her makes me feel sorry for what she’s about to do, but not enough to do something monumentally stupid.”

“I will owe you big time if you do it. And you know what they say about—”

“Swear to the gods, Tyrion, if you say something about Lannisters and debts I will leave you in the next jail cell you wind up in,” Jaime says, throwing an arm across his face as though this might wipe away the nagging guilt.

“Jaime. She’s a _schoolteacher._ She’s a do-gooder. She deserves someone to do the same for her. She doesn’t deserve this prick for the rest of her life. And anyway, I already promised Galladon I’d be there. It’s too late for him to find someone else.”

“Maybe he should be honest with her. Why can people never be honest with others?”

“You grew up in our family and you’re asking that?” Tyrion laughs. “C’mon. You’ve always wanted to rescue a maiden fair. Here’s your chance.”

“This is hardly what I had in mind.” Jaime sighs. “I don’t suppose you thought to pick up a—”

“Mask? It’s in my room on my dresser. I bought it just the other day. It’s adjustable so you shouldn’t have any problems with it. The wedding is being held at Aegon’s Pavilion, and Galladon’s meeting you in the woods just beyond there. I’m texting you his number so you can let him know when you arrive. Thank you, Jaime! You’re the best brother in the world—and just think, you’re going to be helping another great big brother!” Before Jaime gets anything else out, Tyrion hangs up.

_Life would be so much simpler if I’d run away from home when I was twelve like I wanted,_ Jaime thinks as he rolls out of bed. He should have just enough time to take a thorough shower, because if he’s going to be appearing in his nameday suit in front of a crowd, he’s damned well going to be clean.

~*~*~*~*~*

Targaryen Memorial Park is massive—so massive that there are parts of it the natives of King’s Landing believe have never been seen by human eyes. Even though it isn’t in the center of the park, Aegon’s Pavilion is one of the better-known places for important gatherings such as weddings. The combination of near-untamed nature and elegant architecture is irresistible for many. Given how meticulous this Kyle Cunt fellow sounds, Jaime’s surprised he wanted a wedding here, but given the choice between streaking around in a park and being in a sept, Jaime will take the park. (His mother, may the gods rest her soul, would turn over in her grave if he did such a thing in a holy place. His father, may the gods rot his soul, might drop dead if he hears about this stunt, which makes Jaime consider leaving off the mask for a minute or two.)

Jaime arrives with about twenty minutes to spare and lurks on the edge of the woods, looking at the assembled crowd with little interest. Tyrion hasn’t bothered to send him a description of this Galladon Tarth, so Jaime has no choice but to text the number Tyrion sent. He looks out over the crowd and about thirty seconds after he sends his text, a tall—gods, how tall is he?—man checks his phone and glances around with wild, hopeful eyes. He spies Jaime, who nods and melts back into the cover the trees provide him.

Up close, Galladon Tarth is six inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier than Jaime. His crooked nose indicates that he’s been a fight or two, and his smile, when he smiles, reveals two capped teeth.

“Tyrion?” He extends his hand.

Jaime almost corrects him but remembers that the description Galladon has matches him, so he nods again and shakes the proffered hand. Better that he keeps his real name out of this as best he can. “Good to meet you in person,” he lies.

“Thank the gods I’m meeting _you.”_ Galladon lets go of Jaime’s hand and looks back at the tableau. “I was afraid you might back out. I wouldn’t blame you. I know you probably think this scheme is insane, but trust me, it’s going to work.”

“Why are you so sure of that?” Jaime asks. “Your sister might not care if this guy flips his lid at someone streaking at their wedding.”

Galladon has a knowing look on his face that Jaime’s not sure he trusts. “Trust me, this is the kind of guy who…it’s not going to be pretty. And Brienne’s not going to like what she sees. Certainly not enough to marry him.”

Jaime still has his doubts. “Is there a particular moment you want me to interrupt? Are they going for the traditional cloaking and vows to the Seven ceremony?”

Galladon snorts. “Of course not. That’s what Brienne wanted, but _Hyle_ felt that that was too paganistic. They’re going for the modern revised Ceremony of the Seven.”

“So I should show up right after the septon asks if someone has an objection?” Might as well go for the most melodramatic moment of the whole ceremony.

“Absolutely.” Galladon claps a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Once all is said and done, I’ll meet up with you at the Hot Pie’s at the corner of the park to give you the payment.”

Jaime is surprised that Tyrion didn’t insist on payment up front, but Galladon doesn’t strike Jaime as someone who would screw anyone over.

“All right,” Jaime agrees. “One thing—how big a guy is this, uh, Hyle? As big as you?”

“He’s not even as big as my sister,” Galladon says with a laugh. “Something that pisses him off royally, let me tell you.”

_As big as…._ “What about your father? Is he still alive and…about your size?”

“Yes, my dad’s here. He’s between me and Brienne, but don’t worry. He’ll shout and rage and pretend to be angry, but deep down, he’s as unhappy that she’s marrying this loser as I am. He won’t chase after you.”

_Tyrion Lannister, you’re a dead man._

Galladon returns to the guests and Jaime waits for the ceremony to begin. He watches as the groom arrives, and he can’t help but sneer. Hyle isn’t unattractive, he supposes, but he’s certainly not the type of man who makes a sensible woman overlook his negative qualities or consider herself lucky to marry him. The guy standing beside him, who has thinning red hair and a perpetual smirk on his face, whispers something in Hyle’s ear which makes him laugh smugly before he says something back.

Jaime is about to slip further into the shadows to take off his clothes when he decides he wants to see something, because part of him still hesitates to do this crazy thing. But he wants to see the bride. He _has_ to see the bride, because if she’s radiant and happy and anxious like most brides are, he doesn’t care how pissed off Galladon and Tyrion will be, he won’t do this to her. He moves from his vantage point directly facing the altar on the pavilion to one where he can get a better look at her, even though he runs the risk of being noticed.

The string quartet, which Jaime only now notices has been playing unobtrusively in the background, increases the volume on the music. He hears the familiar strains of some song they always play at weddings for the bridesmaids to enter by. There are two bridesmaids—one a tall, slender redhead and the other a shorter, curvier brunette. Both manage to look ethereal but frumpy in dove gray gowns with an excess of bows and ribbons, and the beatific smiles on their mouths don’t reach their eyes. Interesting.

They are followed by a petite, dark-haired girl of about sixteen, also in a hideous gown of dove gray, who makes no pretense at being happy. She holds a basket of rose petals in her hand, and every few steps she grabs a handful and dumps it onto the ground. Jaime holds back a snicker as he hears a woman hiss, “Arya! Don’t bunch the flowers like that!”

Arya is now past where Jaime can see her face, but he can guess her reaction based on the fact that on her next reach into the basket, she pulls out a single petal and lays it delicately on the ground before moving forward two steps and repeating her action.

Jaime is so occupied with the amusing girl that he almost misses the entrance of the bride, and what he sees stuns him.

It isn’t that she’s the ugliest woman he’s ever seen, although she comes close. It isn’t the freckles on her face that no amount of makeup could cover completely. It isn’t the lips that are so lush that Jaime at first thinks they can’t be real, but nothing else about her screams fake so he knows they are. It isn’t that she’s tall and broad—gods, what the hells was that Kyle Cunt thinking to put her in a ball gown that does absolutely nothing to flatter her? She needs something that will draw attention to the fifty feet of legs even that dress can’t hide, and something that emphasizes the strength of her back and shoulders, which that dress completely covers.

It’s her eyes. Jaime is close enough to see that they are as blue as…as…he can’t come up with a comparison. They’re beautiful and calm and he could fall into them and never want to come out. He’s so transfixed on her eyes that he almost forgets why he’s standing here, wanting to see her. In the few moments remaining, Jaime examines her face closely.

She doesn’t look resigned, or unhappy, or discontent, not really. She looks as though she’s accepted this to be her fate. She’s not sad about it, but as Jaime thinks about all the brides he’s seen walk down the aisle over the years, not one of them has looked like her.

_Oh, yeah. You need out of this big time._

Jaime decides that he’s going to start his streak from the front of the audience. Since it wouldn’t do any good for him to streak across and _not_ have his clothes waiting for him, and crossing the ceremony twice is beyond risky, not to mention that he has his wallet and keys in the pockets of his jeans, he decides to strip off here. Of course, he’ll risk someone seeing him as he circles his way around the wedding to the other side, but he can’t do anything about that.

After chucking off his clothes, he shoves his feet back into his sneakers and slips the lion mask over his head, covering his eyes and nose but keeping his chin and hair in plain view, and hurries through the woods to his chosen place just as the septon intones the opening prayer of the ceremony, thanking the gods that Cunt has chosen the revised service, which includes a prayer to each of the seven before the vows are spoken, as opposed to the traditional version where prayers are spaced throughout the ceremony and repeated by the bride and groom in unison.

Jaime has a brief wait for the septon to finish the prayers before finally, they’re at That Moment.

“I must now ask if any person here present has reason to believe that Brienne Nymeria Tarth and Hyle Walder Hunt should not be joined in the holiest bonds of matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jaime takes a deep breath and steps into view on the bride’s side of the assembly near the back. No one notices him at first until he finds sudden inspiration in the mask. He opens his mouth and sings loudly and off-key as he walks quickly toward the altar, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight…in the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps tonight—come on, everybody, you know the words!—A-weema-weh, a-weema-weh…”

By the second or third line, everyone’s eyes are on him. There are shrieks of outrage and some of glee. He knows that at least one person, the recalcitrant flower girl, has raised her cell phone to get a picture of him. (She must have had the phone hidden in the basket of rose petals.) Some of the guests, including Galladon, are howling with laughter. Many guests sing along with him, and some clap their hands.

But Jaime’s attention is focused solely on two of the three people standing at the altar. The Cunt looks much as Galladon predicted—absolutely furious. His face is an unflattering red and his fists are balled up at his side. But Brienne…

The hand holding her ridiculously huge wedding bouquet is raised to her lips, hiding them, but there’s something twinkling in those blue eyes and he knows she’s laughing. She thinks this is funny. He smiles at her and gives her a big wink, and that’s when all hells break loose next to her.

_“What the fuck is this?!”_ Hyle shouts. He turns to his best man. “Did you fucking do this, Ronnet?” When the redhead shakes his head, Hyle looks to the next person in line. “Bushy, you asshole, it was you, wasn’t it?”

As he suspected, Jaime finds himself lost in Brienne’s large blue eyes, which now flicker down his body with interest and before he knows it, a certain part of his body is interested in her interest. Realizing that he’s about to sport an enormous erection in front of a large group of people, he grabs a nearby fern to cover his cock, makes a very fast bow, and disappears, hearing Hyle screaming, “Stop that son of a bitch! How dare he disrupt my wedding! Sandor! Stop him—stop fucking laughing and _stop him!!!”_

Jaime almost wishes he could stick around for the denouement, but his role in this is done. Besides, Galladon will fill him in on what happens next when they meet up in a little while. He dashes into the woods, finds where he left his clothes, and runs off, still naked, until he figures he’s far enough away to dress without being discovered. Regretfully, he leaves the lion mask behind as he makes his way back to civilization to wait.

~*~*~*~*~*

Once at Hot Pie’s, Jaime orders a large cup of coffee and two apple turnovers. He figures he’s earned the extra treat, and besides, he missed breakfast and he’s starving. Jaime scarfs down one of the turnovers with just a few bites and, after taking a drink of coffee, decides to savor not only the rest of his meal but also the experience of…

… _has_ he successfully derailed the wedding? Has Galladon’s plan worked? Jaime can’t be sure, but he suspects that a woman like her, if she loves a man, won’t be looking at the naked man who crashes her wedding quite the way Brienne looked at him.

_You were probably imagining that. And what do you know about this Brienne, anyway, other than she’s remarkably ugly, she’s too tall, too broad, she has terrible taste in men, she has the most amazing eyes the gods ever gave a woman, a physique that not even a hideous dress could hide, legs that go on for days, and without you even thinking twice, you popped the most inconvenient boner in the history of inconvenient boners when her eyes smiled at you?_

His phone swooshes to notify him of an incoming text. He glances down and sees that Galladon has sent half a dozen emojis wearing party hats and blowing horns, followed by one word: **_SUCCESS!!!_**

Jaime smiles and sends a reply. _Thank the gods. I’d hate to think I made a fool of myself for nothing._

**_“The Lion Sleeps Tonight” was INSPIRED, man! Only thing better would’ve been if you’d worn a horse mask and gyrated to “Pony.”_ **

_That would be a little overboard._ Jaime doesn’t get a reply, although he makes a note of the suggestion. He’ll send it to Tyrion for future streaking opportunities. Not that there better be any future streaking opportunities for either Lannister brother, but with Tyrion he never knows.

His phone swooshes again, and this time it’s Tyrion. **_How did it go?_**

Jaime informs him that things went well and the wedding’s off. Tyrion sends more party emojis, thanks him about five times, and returns to whatever hole he emerged from to continue…it’s best if Jaime doesn’t think about what Tyrion’s doing.

Jaime lingers over the coffee and second turnover. He sends a quick text to Galladon asking if he thinks he’ll be much longer or if they should make arrangements to meet up some other time. Galladon doesn’t answer, so Jaime figures they’ll catch up later. It may be for the best, since Jaime’s going to want full details of what happened after he left and Galladon probably has to be there to support his sister and…

A lion mask plops onto his table.

Jaime freezes, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Out of the corner of his left eye, he sees masses of white taffeta ruffles trimmed in lace. He’s been so consumed with his thoughts that he hasn’t realized the entire coffee shop went silent at the entrance of the person wearing this ridiculous ensemble, but now that he’s aware, he believes the entire place can hear his heart beating.

He looks up slowly, past the exaggerated waistline of the dress, where a pair of strong freckled hands rest on either side. Past the fitted bodice and what he’s betting is more padding than breast, given the rest of her. All the way up to the determined chin, the lush lips, the nose that’s been broken as many times as her brother’s, the ridiculous crown of roses at the top of her head, although someone has thoughtfully removed the veil, and finally, against his will, he looks into her eyes.

“You left that behind,” Brienne Tarth says, and gods, her voice is something else. Low, husky, and he hears it crying out his name as he drives into her again and again…

Jaime shakes his head and rejoins the real world in time to see Brienne pull out the chair across from his and then look at the skirt of her gown skeptically. She bunches wads of taffeta and lace in her hands and tries to sit normally, only the crinoline belling out the skirt lifts at the front. “Good gods,” she mutters, and Jaime bites his lip to keep from laughing. She finally stuffs the skirt underneath the table and scoots forward as best she can. The chair scrapes the hardwood floor, as though they needed anything more to have everyone’s attention.

Once she’s seated, looking like a cross between a meringue and a maiden warrior goddess, she stares at Jaime as if expecting him to do something. 

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” _Denial—always a good place to start._

“Don’t even,” she says. “You know damned well who I am, and if you’d lower your pants enough to show me the lion tattoo on your left hip, I’d be sure of who you are, or at least where you were ninety minutes ago, but I really don’t need that for confirmation.”

Jaime tips his cup in her direction and takes a drink. She’s right—no sense in denying it. “You want a cup of coffee? Something to eat?” he asks, proving that he has no self-preservation whatsoever because giving the woman whose wedding he just ruined something hot is not a good idea.

She doesn’t hesitate before answering. “I want one of every single pastry the store has on its menu. Then I want an entire pot of sugar and cream with a little coffee for flavoring.”

Jaime’s lips twitch, but he senses she’s serious. He stands up and heads to the counter, then looks back in anticipation of her telling him that she’s joking, just get her a decaf coffee with nonfat milk and a slice of the spinach and gruyere quiche, please. Brienne shoots him a defiant look, as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”

Jaime turns to the tall, skinny barista at the front counter and places the order, ignoring the wide eyes as he does so. The girl asks, “Are you sure?” He nods, she rings up his total, and tells him it’ll be a few minutes. Jaime returns to the table, where Brienne is toying with the mask.

He sits down and asks, “Why did I just order the majority of Hot Pie’s menu?”

She pins him to his chair with a look. “A couple of reasons. One, because I know my brother hired you to disrupt my wedding, so you owe me for that. Two, because you did it while singing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight,’ while _also_ wearing a lion mask _and_ having a lion tattoo on your left hip, which is so beyond cheesy I can’t even think about it because I’ll either die of embarrassment or die laughing, I haven’t decided which. Finally, because I haven’t allowed myself a single pastry or cup of coffee that wasn’t black as midnight in nearly four months because my fiancé, or now my _former_ fiancé, suggested that I try to lose a little weight before the wedding so the dress would look good.”

Jaime wants to ask why she was going to marry someone who didn’t want her eating the heavenly pastries at Hot Pie’s or drinking coffee however she wanted, but that’s not his business.

_Not yet,_ a small voice inside him says as the first tray of pastries arrives with her sugar-and-cream laden coffee. She grabs the first pastry, a cranberry-orange scone, takes a large bite from it, and moans in ecstasy.

_Not really doing much to help out my situation here,_ Jaime thinks as his cock perks up at the sound. She sets the pastry down, takes a sip of her coffee, and the look on her face has him shifting in his seat.

“Why did you do it?” Brienne asks after she’s had a second bite of the scone, another sip of coffee, and Jaime’s terrified of reenacting one of his more embarrassing moments from his adolescence. “I know why Gally hired you, though gods know why he didn’t just talk to me like an adult. Why did you agree to this?”

“I didn’t.” Jaime launches into an explanation while she eats pastries with gusto, a second tray of which arrive halfway through the telling. He finishes with, “If it helps you be less angry at your brother, all he wanted was the streaking. My brother bought the lion mask, and I decided to go all out.” He chuckles ruefully. “I forgot about the tattoo.”

“How do you forget about a tattoo?”

“Get so hammered that you wake up the morning after wondering why the hells there’s a lion tattoo on your hip. I suppose I should be grateful. I have a vague recollection of Tyrion trying to convince me to have it tattooed on my ass.”

Brienne smiles, revealing slightly crooked teeth. He finds this as fascinating as the rest of her.

“What happened after I left?” he asks.

She takes a drink of her coffee and sets the large cup down. “Hyle accused half the guests of inviting you as a prank, including all his college buddies. So they’re pissed at him. Then he accused Sansa, Margaery, and Arya of hiring you. That pissed off most of the rest, although Arya said she wished she’d thought of it. Then he accused Gally and my dad of doing it, and that pissed _me_ off.” She toys with the chocolate croissant on her plate. “Although he wasn’t completely wrong about that, so maybe I shouldn’t have been so upset, but by that time I was tired of hearing him yell about how _his_ perfect wedding was ruined. I pointed out that had he not started carrying on, _our_ wedding wouldn’t have been ruined but merely delayed, and we’d have a hilarious story to tell our grandchildren someday.”

“What did he say to that?”

“That if I thought this was the sort of story he’d ever tell people without being humiliated, I was an idiot.” Brienne’s cheeks flush slightly. “You may not believe this, but he’d never outright insulted me before. Gally pointed out the subtle things he did that I never understood as being insulting later, but…” The flush darkens. “I guess that makes me an idiot for not seeing it.”

“No!” Jaime exclaims. “If you haven’t had a lot of experience in relationships, you could miss it. Especially if someone is as good at manipulation as it sounds like Hyle was.”

“That’s the thing—when I look back on it, and I had a little time on my walk here—”

“You walked here? In that dress, with heels to match?”

“No heels. I’m five inches taller than Hyle, so he pointed out that heels wouldn’t be a good idea. It was the one thing we agreed on for this wedding.” She takes a bite out of the croissant, although she’s slowed down on eating. “I don’t think Hyle was all that good at being manipulative. I’m just very naïve. I’m sure Gally told you—”

“I have most of my information about you third-hand,” Jaime says. “From your brother to mine to me. You don’t strike me as naïve, just…” _Innocent._ He barely knows Brienne, but for some reason that word comes to mind when he looks at her. Maybe it’s the dress. “…I don’t know. Not naïve.”

“Thanks for that, I guess,” she says. She leans back in her chair and puts her hands on her stomach and exhales. “Anyway, I told him that if he felt like I was an idiot, and I knew for certain that he was, it was probably best that we didn’t get married at all. Then he started yelling at me, and that _really_ pissed off my dad, who wound up punching Hyle.” She smiles. “Knocked him out with one punch. I’m a little worried that Hyle will press charges, but Arya says she’s got him on camera having his hissy fit, and she’ll upload it if he does.”

“I like her already,” Jaime says with a smile. “Did she record the whole thing?”

Brienne gives him an annoyed look. “Why? Do you not know what you look like naked? Tall, golden, half-god, half-lion?”

Jaime’s smile widens. He likes this description of himself, especially coming from her.

“Just curious,” he says. His smile drops away and he asks, “How mad are you at your brother?”

Brienne sighs. “Not as much as I should be, I’m sure, but I think part of me always knew that Hyle wasn’t the right one. I just didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. If I had, then I’d have to admit that I’d made a mistake agreeing to marry him and tying up a chunk of my father’s money on a wedding I didn’t want.”

Jaime practically growls, “You’re trying to tell me that son of a whore made every decision about your wedding and made your family pay for it?”

Brienne shrugs but says nothing. “You made the right decision,” he says. “Today, I mean, in calling off the whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have done it without you, so…thanks for running naked through my wedding.” They hold each other’s gazes for about three seconds before they laugh.

“Do you want me to get you a to-go bag for the rest of these?” Jaime asks, waving his hand at her uneaten pastries remaining. “Take them home, enjoy them later?” 

“I can get it,” she says. She looks down at the skirt under the table and grabs hold of it as she scoots her chair back.

Jaime isn’t sure exactly what happens next, but as Brienne rises, she stumbles on something—probably the chair—and falls to the floor with a squeak. The crinoline of the dress flies up to reveal a pair of very long, well-muscled legs encased filmy white stockings to the thigh, and above the tops of those stockings, she wears a pair of lacy, pale blue panties. Jaime’s libido goes into overdrive and he almost groans. He closes his eyes for three seconds, hearing her thrashing about on the floor as he wills himself to get under control. When he opens them again, he hurries to her side to help her up.

“If I ever find someone else who can stand to spend the rest of his life waking up to me, we’re getting married down at the courthouse and I’m wearing pants,” she grumbles as she brushes off crumbs and whatever else she finds from the dress. Her face has gone beet red. “Why I let him talk me into this monstrosity is beyond me.”

“With legs like yours, I’m sure you’ll find someone to wake up with you before long,” Jaime says before his brain catches up with his mouth and reminds it that _hello, you just ruined this woman’s wedding. Leave her alone._

Brienne stares at him, her blue eyes looking startled and confused. “Trust me, it will. Most guys don’t want women like me. But thanks anyway.”

“I’m not most guys,” he says, and he realizes he hasn’t formally introduced himself. He extends his hand. “I’m Jaime Lannister.”

“Okay,” she says cautiously as she shakes his hand for three seconds, then lets it go. “Hi, Jaime. Just because you ruined my wedding doesn’t mean you have to try and make it up to me by pretending to be interested in me.”

“Who’s pretending? I am completely, totally…”

~*~*~*~*~*

“…grab-the-nearest-greenery-to-hide-my-boner-when-I’m-streaking-at-your-wedding interested in you!”

Eighteen months later, the large crowd gathered to witness Brienne Tarth get married roars with laughter. This time, however, they’re together on a beach in Tarth, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing on the beach as the sun sets. The bride wears a simple, cream-colored draped silk gown that sets off her back to perfection and makes the most out of her legs. There is no elaborate flower crown on her head—instead, on the table beside her is a small bouquet of blue forget-me-nots and white daisies, no roses in sight. Her bridesmaids wear lovely gowns of azure blue with no bows or ribbons anywhere.

The meal the guests enjoy is a variety of fish, with some red meat for those with allergies and non-meat options for the vegetarians. The cake, which is being consumed as the best man brings his speech to a close, is a spice cake with cream cheese frosting, the bride’s favorite (although there is a groom’s cake around somewhere that is all chocolate, or so he’s been assured).

Most importantly, neither the ceremony nor the reception so far have been interrupted by the sudden appearance of a rogue streaker, although the best man had threatened at one point to show up to the wedding _au naturel,_ which both the groom and father of the bride strongly discouraged him from doing. (The brother of the bride offered him triple what he’d planned to pay him to streak at the first wedding, to no avail.) 

“Did you have to tell him the whole introduction?” Brienne turns to her husband and asks, although he knows she’s not annoyed.

“With Arya posting the whole thing, including me grabbing the fern, on YouTube, he would’ve found out anyway,” Jaime says, leaning over to kiss her, drawing a chorus of “awws” from their guests.

“Jaime, please, not during the reception. Or if you must, at least wait until after the speeches,” Tyrion says, drawing more laughter. “So in conclusion, I think that if anyone here is responsible for these two coming together in the first place, it’s me, with an assist from the bride’s brother, and the very least they can do is name at least two of their future children after me. Thank you.”

People applaud politely even though Tyrion neglects to toast the newlywed couple in his haste to share the story of how Jaime and Brienne met.

Tyrion’s is the first speech, and by far the funniest. Selwyn spends most of his fighting back tears as he wishes his baby girl every happiness and makes not-so-subtle threats to Jaime to make sure that happens. Margaery, the brunette bridesmaid, won the rock-paper-scissors contest against red-headed bridesmaid Sansa to give the bridesmaid’s speech, and she makes so many references to lions and roaring that Brienne blushes the entire time.

After the applause dies down from her speech, Margaery says, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the bride and groom’s first dance.”

Jaime stands and holds out his hand to Brienne. She takes it without hesitation, and the two of them walk to the middle of the small dance floor that was set up for the occasion. He pulls her close to him, reveling in the warmth of her embrace, the strength in her body, the long legs that he…should probably stop thinking about the way he wants to in public, even if this is their wedding. He places one hand at the small of her back, takes her right hand in his other one, and murmurs, “I love you.”

She bends her head enough to kiss him, lips warm and lush and all he wants is to lose himself in them, in _her,_ and then…

_Here he comes…Boogity, boogity  
There he goes…boogity, boogity  
And he ain’t wearin’ no clothes  
Oh yes, they call him The Streak…_

Brienne pulls away and turns her head to glare over at Margaery, who shrugs with faux innocence as the first chorus of “The Streak” begins.

Jaime laughs and laughs, and only when Brienne kisses him again does he stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the story is from Ray Stevens' "The Streak," of course!!


End file.
